


Close Quarters

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-11
Updated: 2006-03-10
Packaged: 2018-08-16 04:40:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8087692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: (06/08/2003)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers, 2.12 "The Catwalk."  
  
This is for Jeri, Leah, Tracy, and Socrat-Girl: four of the nicest nags in cyberspace!  
  
Beta: The ever wonderful PJ; and Jeri for 'southerness'  


* * *

Smug.

There was no getting away from it. I looked smug.

I also looked happy. And content. And tired. Very tired actually. In fact, my eyes looked squinty with exhaustion. But if you've only been getting four or so hours of sleep for six weeks you would look a bit tired, wouldn't you?

Six weeks of Hoshi.

The happy, content and tired face in the mirror looked even more smug, if that was possible. I really had to practice not looking like this, not if we wanted to keep this quiet. So I thought of something really unpleasant: no Hoshi ever again.

Yes, that worked. A bit too well. Now I looked exhausted and miserable.

Must work on looking normal. Whatever that is.

* * *

We'd been discreet. Always waiting until after midnight to meet, and leaving before shift change at 0730. It was hard, but Starfleet still had the "Don't ask, don't tell" policy. And there was no way I was going to force someone to ask what we'd been up to.

I hadn't heard any gossip either. Forget morals, this was too important to leave to chance. I eavesdropped shamelessly whenever I had the chance and I heard nothing about either of us. I did hear a story about Liz Cutler and Phlox but that can't be true.

So we continued to have meals in the mess, sometimes together, sometimes alone, sometimes with others. And I tried desperately to look as if we hadn't spent the night "shagging each other senseless" as Malcolm so eloquently puts it. He certainly hadn't lost any of his way with words.

Well, maybe exhaustion was getting to him. Just a little. Perhaps.

* * *

I was fairly sure Trip knew. He dropped hints; no doubt he fondly believed they were subtle. Hints like "Hoshi'll know, why don't you ask her when you see her tonight?" and "Rough night, Malcolm? You two gotta take it easy, buddy."

As I said, Trip's version of subtle.

It was driving him crazy, not knowing. Sometimes he looked so desperate to know, I almost told him; we were friends after all. But he was also the Captain's closest friend, and despite what Hoshi believes who really knows what his—relationship—with T'Pol involved. So I buried my scruples down in my boots somewhere and concentrated on work. And Hoshi.

Actually if truth be known it was Hoshi and work together that occupied me on duty. Amazing how much thinking I could do whilst looking at Hoshi working. She was inspiring.

Somehow my mind associated large, satisfying explosions with Hoshi's presence. Can't imagine why.

Oh dear, there's that smug look again.

* * *

Thank God no-one saw me coming out of the access tube. Malcolm had a reason to be there but it wasn't often that a linguist had to be anywhere near the phase cannons.

And we were a little late for the briefing. Well, I was on time. Malcolm had to make some adjustments to his uniform.

I thought we'd gotten away with it.

The captain was droning on and on. "Nebula ...blah ...ion storm ...yap, yap...shutting down saucer section...yadda yadda...close quarters ...pack enough for four days...more blah..." And all I could think about was the wall of the access tube behind me and Malcolm's breath warm in my ear...

Concentrate, Hoshi, you're on duty.

But why was it getting so hot in here?

"Blah, blah, the aliens who warned us ..."

Trip moved to stand behind me. Uh-oh, here's trouble.

"Nice shade of lipstick Malcolm's wearing."

Major panic. I cast an oh-so-casual glance around the room. I'd been practicing casual glances in the mirror; wouldn't do to be looking at Malcolm too intently. But I couldn't see any lipstick on Malcolm's face.

Drat Trip. Just because he misses tormenting his brothers and sisters and his million and a half cousins doesn't mean he has to tease me and Malcolm instead. Malcolm's right. The man needs a distraction. Maybe he even needs the distraction of T'Pol, although the mind boggles at T'Pol distracting anyone. Malcolm says he was never attracted to her, but perhaps Trip—

Oh. My. Goodness. A nice smear of Apricot Sunset on Malcolm's neck. How did—? Oh yes. Memories of nibbling his neck from his ear to his collar revived themselves. Nice memories at that, but why did it have to be Trip to notice?

And if Trip noticed, had anyone else?

Don't panic, Hoshi. It's a sheer lipstick. You'd only notice it if you were looking for it. If you were looking and incredibly nosy and suspicious. Someone just like Trip.

Please.

* * *

Amazing how many of Hoshi's things had accumulated in my cabin. I hated it when Maddie's accumulation of girl things swamped our bathroom at home. Oddly, though, I didn't mind Hoshi's bits and pieces at all.

Soap, mine. Shower gel, Hoshi's. Toothbrush, mine. Comb, mine. Tampons, Hoshi's. Jasmine shampoo—definitely Hoshi's. Jasmine and Hoshi's hair and night and dark and ...

Towel, mine. Toothpaste, mine.

"Malcolm ..."

I turned slowly. She had that look on her face. The good look. The look that meant Malcolm Reed was about to hit the jackpot yet again.

So to speak.

She started lowering her zip.

Oh yesyesyes ...

Oh, hell.

"Hoshi, we've got to be at the mess in fifteen minutes. The crew ..."

The zip continued to fall.

Instant paralysis. A familiar feeling and a good one.

"Do you realise, that we've made love on your bunk, your chair, the floor, the wall by the door, the desk—but not over there?" And she pointed to the wall beside me.

Now that she mentioned it, we hadn't.

But there was enough of the Starfleet officer in me to mount a protest. A feeble protest, but it was the best I could manage with the shoulders of her jumpsuit sliding off. Frankly I was amazed I had enough self control to speak at all. "Hoshi, love—"

The zip was down and the jump suit came off. Hoshi lunged.

Bugger Starfleet.

Explosion time again.


	2. Chapter 2

We made our way from the mess to the catwalk in a large happy group. Happy except for little ol' me. I'd never been to the catwalk and I didn't want to. I wanted my cabin—or Malcolm's, I'm not fussy—and Malcolm.

So, three or four nights bunking with him. And with Tanner, Boboroff, Lee and Knox. Great. I wanted to think the sleeping arrangements were Trip's evil doing. But when I glared at him he just looked startled rather than using that stupidly innocent expression he has when he's up to something. So maybe it was T'Pol who was going to torture us for four nights or so.

Four nights when we had to pretend we were nothing but colleagues and friends. Easy. Very easy.

Oh, who was I trying to kid? One look at the man and I wanted to throw him down on the nearest horizontal surface. Or vertical. Vertical could do very well. Witness our activities not thirty minutes ago.

The last such activity for three or four days.

Damn. Damn, bloody hell and bugger. As Malcolm would say. Except his accent would make it sound like poetry.

And there was to be no poetry for three or four days either.

* * *

We'd settled in well. I was relieved to see that security and tactical had been successfully rerouted to the console in the new command post. Nice to know that something was working.

I wondered if I could spend most of my time here. But was that normal behaviour? Or should I hang around the new quarters, around Hoshi? And if I hung around Hoshi, would I remember to act Malcolm-alone normally, not Hoshi-and-Malcolm normally. Would I remember that no-one else knew about her teddy bear, or her grandmother's famous dipping sauce for sashimi, or her best friend Hannah or—

And my normal behaviour around Hoshi now consisted various activities that could indicate that we were intimate. Like tucking her hair back behind her ear for her. Massaging her shoulders when they got stiff after sitting over notes all day. Talking about anything and everything. Sleeping with her beautiful strong back tucked up against me, my hand held against the warm curve of her stomach...

No, normal behaviour would rather give the game away.

So, three nights. Three very l-o-n-g, nights.

Please make it only three nights.

I don't think I could manage four.

* * *

Dinner. Done.

We'd survived. Thanks to Malcolm asking Boboroff about football. Note that I've spent so much time with Malcolm I'm calling it football not soccer. Anyway, they spent half an hour talking about the final in '47. A classic. Apparently. Three goals scored. And did you see that pass from Jamison to Barrera?

No, I didn't. Malcolm's enthusiasm for a game that was five years old was a little strange. I thought he didn't follow football?

Dinner over. Ablutions.

I survived that as well because Knox thought we girls should stick together. So she followed me to the bathroom, prattling all the way. And she prattled all the time we were there. I didn't know it was possible to clean your teeth well and talk at the same time but the girl's obviously had some practice.

Bed. Uh-oh.

Malcolm stripped down to his blues. Those legs, those arms, that ass...

Eyes off, Knox. They're all mine. Mine, I tell you.

I think the strain is getting to me.

* * *

23:52 hours.

Hoshi was awake. I could tell by her breathing.

Awake and less than a metre away.

This had to be hell.

Then she sighed. Quietly, but I knew what her sighs sounded like. There was the frustrated sigh when a language refused to be decoded, there was the contented sigh when she had her first cup of green tea for the day, there was the sigh when I stroked her waist down to her hip and beyond—

Distraction. I needed a distraction badly. How about English monarchs from the Norman conquest.

William. Rufus. Henry I. Stephen.

She's moving again.

Stephen. Henry II. Henry III.

Why the hell did they all have to be called Henry?

It's that restless move she does when she can't sleep and she wants to—

Poetry. The Ancient Mariner. Ghastly poem and of course Dad's favourite.

"It is an ancient mariner/and he stoppeth one of three .."

Another sigh. The woman doesn't play fair. Maybe if we're really really quiet and can squeeze into the sleeping bag together ...

"—stoppeth one of three/By thy long grey beard and glittering eye..."

Finally, after all 144 interminable verses, I started to nod off. And my last thought was one of satisfaction. I'd finally found a use for the stupid poem which Dad would dislike immensely.

* * *

Day two wasn't so bad.

Malcolm was busy doing security stuff with Trip. There was something a bit off about the aliens that worried them. I took the opportunity to go over my language logs. And Knox stopped yabbering for at least two hours so that was a huge plus.

But I was tired. Lying awake until after midnight, listening to Malcolm's oh-so-controlled breathing, hearing every movement of those glorious legs against his sleeping bag ...I must have done something really bad to deserve this.

And I knew he was reciting something to help him sleep. He told me he did that at boarding school, when he was afraid and homesick and they'd taken his teddy bear away, poor darling. It made me want to hold him and kiss all the bad memories away.

One night down, two to go.

What was really surprising, though, was that I missed talking to him. I really longed for his wry comments on the day and our shipmates' behaviour. But I missed the sex as well. Boy did I miss it.

My rebellious body which was so dependent on daily close physical contact with Malcolm would just have to put up with another two days of withdrawal.

But that didn't mean my body was happy about it.

* * *

It was hard not talking to Hoshi about our plans. I was used to using her agile mind as a sounding board. But Trip asked me not to mention his suspicions about our alien guests to anyone until we were sure. So I stayed silent.

Hoshi knew something was wrong, though. I could tell. She's very intuitive that way. Must be a girl thing.

After collecting evidence and consulting the captain, we decided to return to the saucer section of the ship to investigate more fully. We had to change into EV suits to do so. It was then I realised Trip was lucky. He didn't have anyone looking at him with big brown eyes, pleading with him to be careful.

Then again, Trip was very unlucky because having someone looking at you with big brown eyes pleading with you to be careful was pretty wonderful.

At least he was right about the aliens. They were trying to take over the ship. And after some pretty nifty teamwork, we got it back.

It wasn't really a surprise the aliens had an ulterior motive. Almost everyone out here seems to have one, except us. Sometimes I think we've got 'Suckers' painted across the ship right under the registry number.

One day the captain may realise that not everyone is as friendly and open as he is. Yes, and pigs may fly.

But it was all worth it to see Hoshi's face as we returned to our makeshift quarters.

Poor Trip. The bastard really doesn't know what he's missing.

* * *

We had another day of ion storms to ride out. But frankly the only riding I was interested in involved Malcolm's body and secluded place we could find.

Another night with Malcolm beside me, tormenting and torturing, was unthinkable. Unbearable. And I wasn't going to let it happen. Hoshi needed her Malcolm.

So I spent most of the third day looking for a having-Malcolm secluded place. I was most thorough. And I neatly avoided any suspicion by claiming I wanted to find a space where I could concentrate on translations in peace.

I can be really clever if the rewards are great enough.

I finally found the perfect spot. Hidden behind a panel. Beside the coil assembly ducts. Just big enough for two standing up. I spent some very delightful moments thinking just how it would work. Then I went to drag Malcolm off to my lair.

He followed me like the meek little lamb he truly is. I know everyone thinks that he's a big tough armory officer which when you come to think about it is a good thing. But with me he's like an adorable cuddly pussy cat.

A pussy cat with strong, shapely legs and arms, and a gorgeous chest and a wonderfully sinful clever mind, but a pussy cat nonetheless.

And my pussy cat was going to be mewling within the next few minutes.

Of course we had to be quiet: we did want to be as discreet as possible. Well, as discreet as you can be when you're planning on a quickie in an alcove in the warp nacelles. But he did mewl. Most effectively.

And I really thought we would get away with it.

* * *

To say Hoshi surprised me was an understatement. When she asked me to come and help her with her conjugations I was a little suspicious but I thought she was teasing me. Fortunately Boboroff, Lee, Knox and Tanner didn't take much notice. Two days of close quarters with them has led me to the depressing conlusion that they are too stupid to pick up anything less subtle than a slap in the face with a dead cod.

Then I saw Hoshi's face.

I've been so lucky lately I should buy a lottery ticket.

So I trailed Hoshi through the catwalk, nodding as casually as I could to various crewmembers. It is hard to be casual when you're sure that in a few minutes you're going to be enjoying fantastic sex with the woman of your dreams, but I think I managed it. Amazing what you can do when you have to.

The alcove she found was small but out of the way. We'd have to be inventive but I prided myself on my inventiveness in tight spots. But somehow the initiative was taken out of my hands. So to speak.

I had one hand on Hoshi's absolutely perfect left breast and the other on her delightful bum when she started hitting me.

Odd.

Then she made a strangled sort of "Malcolm" noise.

Very odd. What could possibly—

The most horrible premonition I had ever not enjoyed shuddered over me. I turned.

Must remember to trust premonitions. They're spot on, always.

For there, looking back at me, were the gleeful eyes of Commander Tucker.

* * *

It was without a doubt one of the most glorious moments of my life.

Malcolm Reed, oh-so-proper Malcolm Reed, caught with his hand up Ensign Sato's shirt. Of course, being Malcolm, he tried to pretend that checking out Hoshi's assets was absolutely correct behaviour for a Starfleet Officer.

But Hoshi was looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes, and despite his best efforts I'm fond of Malcolm. So my better nature came to the fore.

Momma would be proud.

"Ain't in here, Cap'n," I called, over my shoulder. But I couldn't resist one very quiet little dig. "At ease, an' carry on."

I thought Malcolm would explode. With rage or embarrassment I wasn't sure and didn't care much. It was the overall effect I was going for.

It was hard to not to snigger while the Captain and I looked for the missing phase spanner but I managed. I figured I could laugh till the cows came home when we were done.

Payback for the mess hall incident. Malcolm and I were even now.

And at last I knew the truth about those two. And what a way to find out. That was one helluva satisfying moment.

* * *

"Oh my god!"

"Hoshi! They're still out there!"

"Oh my—"

"Shhh, please, love. The captain's with him—"

But my brain, which had already obviously been extracted when I thought up this ridiculous plan, refused to go back to its rightful place.

"He saw us—"

"I know, and the captain will hear us if you keep blabbering."

Well! I do not blabber! I opened my mouth to tell him just that when he put his hand rather hard over my face.

That made me really cross. Really really cross. So I did the only thing possible. I bit his hand, hard. I didn't have two monsters for brothers without learning something.

"Ow! Hoshi, you—"

Gracious, it's true what they say about sailors and language. And it's also true that the British have so many inventive ways to swear. The linguist in me rejoiced at that discovery. Lieutenant Reed's lover, however, was not so easily distracted.

"You shouldn't have put your hand over my face! You know I've got claustrophobia!"

"Really? Claustrophobia so bad that you choose this tiny little area for a quick shag?"

"That's different!" Wonderful how you could sound cross even though you were whispering.

"How is it different? Can you turn your claustrophobia on and off like a tap?"

This was our first argument. We'd gone six weeks together and this was our very first disagreement. Wow. And he looked really intense too. Intense and passionate and just a hint of embarrassment at our predicament. A very attractive combination.

Malcolm, poor darling, failed to realise that I'd already made the transition from the argument stage to the making-up stage. He was still in full tirade. "—And don't you realise that it was Trip who found us? Trip, of all people? Oh, God, it doesn't bear thinking about!"

So don't think about it, Malcolm. Think about this instead. And I moved my hand southwards.

After a startled moment he laughed. Then he mewled again. "Well, in for a penny..."

Ooooh, making up. I can certainly see its appeal.

* * *

We survived for two whole days in the close quarters without jumping each other. Hoshi says it's a record she doesn't want to repeat. I can only agree with her.

And it's been three days since Trip found us and he still hasn't said anything. The suspense is killing me.

Not even moving back to the saucer section—and having Hoshi move on me as soon as the door to my cabin shut—could lessen the feeling of dread. It was like study vac, when you knew the two free weeks would end in the horrors of exams. But at least you could study for exams. Nothing could help me avoid Trip's eventual reckoning.

And it wasn't as if the man did or said anything. He behaved as normal. Well, as normal as Trip could be. He chatted with everyone, teased poor Hoshi, tormented me and annoyed T'Pol. Oh, and ogled her when he thought she wasn't looking.

As I said, completely normal.

Hoshi swore he wouldn't say anything. If he was going to, he would have done so by now, she thought. If only I could be so sure. So to be on the safe side we were even more careful than usual. I rigged up a system which showed the corridor outside my room so even at 0100 hours we could be sure no-one could see Hoshi leave or enter.

And we managed several inventive ways to keep each other as quiet as possible during—well, shall we say—more intimate moments. Ways which it is quite unnecessary to enumerate here. But our research on those ways was extensive. As was our testing of the systems we finally implemented. After all, Starfleet demands the most rigorous checking of all new procedures.

Another bright note in all this gloom was Trip's ridiculous sense of honour. I was by now fairly certain he wouldn't say anything to the Captain. Although now I think about it the Captain has a fairly good track record of turning a blind eye to things. Witness his reaction to almost all my suggestions as to his personal security.

So after two weeks in which I teetered from optimism to despair, I finally realised Trip was going to keep it quiet.

What a relief.

Back to normal transmission. And back to normal life with my Hoshi.

Life—and Hoshi—are wonderful. Fulfilling and rich and loving.

* * *

In Malcolm's bunk, squashed up against each other, the sweat trickling down between us. After. I do so like after.

He's relaxed now that he realises Trip isn't going to say anything.

Not that I thought Trip would. Not really. Not much. Not enough to keep me awake at night.

Now Malcolm's hand is running over my hair. He falls asleep doing this. And so do I. The rhythm of his touch, the warmth of his body, the sound of his breath ...happiness.

And just as I fall off to sleep I hear him whisper "I love you, Hoshi Sato."

Every night the same, and every night perfect.

* * *

They are so cute together. Although you gotta hand it to them, they're so discreet I'm pretty sure no-one else has any idea that they're a couple. I only picked up on Malcolm's interest in Hoshi because he was so defensive about it all those weeks ago.

It was cruel of me to let Malcolm sweat, waiting for me to say something about what I saw, but I figured eventually he'd realize I'd never do that to a buddy. And I have to admit, it was fun seeing him look like a deer in the headlights whenever I was near the Captain. But I'm friends with Malcolm—prickly, cranky, sarcastic Brit that he is—and friends don't tell on each other.

Hoshi's threat to cut off my balls and give 'em to T'Pol as a birthday present had nothing to do with my silence. Nothing at all. Word of a gentleman.

And despite what Hoshi says, I do not have feelings like that for T'Pol. My feelings are purely platonic. How many times do I have to tell Hoshi that I've decided that since we gotta work together, I might as well know something about Vulcan culture?

Somehow, though, I don't think she believes me. Don't know why.

Never mind, I'm off for my meditation lesson. Don't wanna be late!

Yeah, a meditation lesson with T'Pol.

Why are you looking at me like that?


End file.
